Soul of the Wolves

Does this mean he will kill me if I’m no longer his wife? Can I ask for a divorce? Does that even seem possible? Cain didn’t brief her about this. That sniveling bastard. Damn dog. I hope he chokes on his kibbles and dies.

“Still scared?”

She couldn’t answer.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” He winked. “Not unless you want me too.”

Her eyes widened. Is he joking? Is he even capable of telling jokes? Does Wolfman even tell jokes? Ethan seemed like one of those men with a chip on his shoulder as big as a small moon. Perpetually broody, always tense like a cello string ready to snap.

Sexy but scary.

“Relax, you look stressed out.” He withdrew his hand and stepped back, scrutinizing her from head to toe. Sookie felt like she was rooted where she stood. He turned around and walked to the minibar, a beautiful piece of a credenza disguised as a refrigerator that held all kind of beverages. “Do you want something to help you to relax? Whiskey, perhaps?”

She almost said she didn’t drink, but she caught her mistake. They supposedly got hammered so badly in Vegas they didn’t remember getting hitched in one of Sin City’s many chapels. “Vodka if you have it. Two fingers,” she said boldly. She was never a drinker but on an occasion like this she needed something potent to dull her nervousness.

“Vodka it is.”

She sat back on the ottoman while he fixed their drinks.

“Come over here by the couch,” he called, putting the glasses on the coffee table. “It’ll be more comfortable.” He then shrugged off his dinner jacket and draped it on the armrest and loosened his tie. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing tan skin beneath.

Here we go, the interrogation cometh. The judgement followeth.

She joined him. Ethan handed her the vodka. He himself had poured some amber liquid in his shot glass. Scotch perhaps. Or bourbon. Whiskey? She didn’t know much about booze.

Ethan lifted his glass and tipped his head at her. They toasted. He downed his while she choked on hers on first sip. The last time she tried booze w

as when she was in college. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like the taste. Hated the hangover.

She coughed, spluttering.

“Too strong?” he inquired. He took the glass from her.

She nodded between her coughs. Shit. Is he going to believe that she was really drunk that night? Just say I’m a light drinker, she thought. That’s believable, right?

“Do you want something light, perhaps? A non-alcoholic beverage? I can send someone to make it for you.”

“I’m fine. That’s not necessary. Thank you.”

He watched her with an unreadable expression as he made himself comfortable. A pregnant silence stretched between them. “Susan, if I may be frank, I have no recollection of our time together in Vegas. The fact that I married you makes me think we must share something special between us. Can you tell me what you remember about that night?”

She knew that type of question would eventually come. She rehearsed the best possible answer a dozen times in her head, but then, she thought the best lies were something closer to the truth. “I honestly didn’t remember much. I’m a light drinker, you know, so after that second martini, I just… Let’s just say I wanted to party. I saw you sitting by the bar and I thought, what the hell? I asked you if you’d like to buy me drink and then—”

“You asked me to buy you drink?”

Eeek. Is he suspicious? “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It’s not like a guy like you’d buy someone like me a drink.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You know…” Hot guys usually paid attention only to hot girls and she was none of that. Her brown hair was too mousy. Her skin too pale. And her figure was far from Hollywood’s beauty standard. Sookie made some vague gesture. “I’m not the standard pretty blonde,” she offered.

“I prefer dark-haired woman.” He leaned closer. “And then?”

“Huh?”

“After I bought you a drink? I assume I bought you a drink.”

“Yeah. That. Sorry, that’s where my memory gets hazy.”